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Etho was sick.
Etho was sick and exhausted and his head hurt and he had stupid cramps and he felt like throwing up every time he sat up.
Joel was too nice.
Joel, upon walking into Etho's barely furnished house, had talked to him and stayed with him and gotten him everything he'd asked for even when Etho was being incredibly annoying.
Etho was too sick to figure out why he was doing this.
He just knows that he sure as hell did not have the strength to fight Joel on... literally anything right now.
It was late Thursday afternoon. Etho had been curled up half asleep on his couch, much like he had been for the last three days, when Joel had come in.
He swung the door open, not even knocking, because he was Joel and Joel never knocked. "Etho, can I– wait, are you okay?"
Etho groans in response, voice scratchy, not even opening his eyes.
Silence for a minute. Etho, if he had the brain capacity to think, would've almost thought Joel had left.
Joel had not left, however, because he was sweet like that. Apparently. Etho had never known Joel to be sweet, ever, but today he was.
He hears footsteps, slowly making their way over to him.
"Hi," Joel says carefully, sitting on the coffee table across from Etho. "You don't look great."
"Wow, thanks, Joel," he grits out, another wave of nausea hitting.
Joel hesitates. Etho should probably feel a little bad. He doesn't.
"Do you, like, need anything?" he asks, looking nervous. Again, if Etho weren't in the middle of slowly dying right now, he would think it was cute.
Etho bites back his original response of What the hell do you think. "Just kill me already," he mutters, which is not much better.
Joel frowns. "I'll just get you some water."
"Thanks," Etho mumbles under his breath. Water actually did sound pretty good right now.
Joel smiles at him — he had a really pretty smile, how did Etho not notice before? — and stands up to presumably get Etho some water.
He's back not even a minute later, a tall glass in his hand and a small bottle. He hands him the water, sitting back down on the table.
"I brought these painkillers, too," he tells him, handing him the bottle that Etho can now tell is Tylenol. "It is, er, it is your stomach, right? That's what's bothering you?"
Etho's heart just about melts. Why had he been rude to Joel again? "Yeah," he nods. "Sick too, I think. Thank you."
Joel looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. "'Course. Tell me if you need anything else, yeah?"
"Are you leaving?" he asks, suddenly alarmed.
"Should I not?" Joel asks, unsure.
"You can stay," Etho tells him. "I wouldn't mind some company."
"Okay," Joel grins. "Move your feet then, let me sit on the couch."
"You're gonna get sick," he informs him, but moves his legs nonetheless.
"I don't care," Joel says boldly, sitting down and not even blinking when Etho puts his legs in his lap. "Stop hogging the blanket, loser."
Etho sniffs. "You can't call me a loser. I'm sick." Begrudgingly, he does offer up some blanket.
Joel shrugs. "You asked me to stay. You should've expected this."
"I hate you."
He shakes his head. "You and your mood swings, man."
Etho glares at him. "You can't say that right now. It's sexist."
Joel snorts. "I say the same thing when you're not on your period."
Etho pouts. "Bully. You're bullying me while I'm sick and in pain."
Joel pats his leg in a way that's probably meant to be comforting and not send shivers down his spine. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"That's more like it," he mutters.
Joel rolls his eyes. "You're such a little crybaby."
He frowns. "You're meant to be taking care of me here."
"I am!" he protests. "I got you water!"
"Wow," he says dryly. "So helpful, Joel. Really, do you want an award?"
He crosses his arms. "You haven't asked me for anything else."
Etho shakes his head in mock disappointment. "You should just know these things."
He hesitates. "Food?" he asks, searching Etho's expression for an answer. Etho gives him none. "More blankets? Hot water bottle? Chocolate? Cold medicine? A m—"
"You're good at this," Etho says, cutting him off. Joel beams with pride. "...That actually all sounds pretty good right now. Would you mind—"
"I'm on it," Joel interrupts. "I'll be right back."
This takes a little longer than the glass of water, giving Etho just enough time to think about A) how nice Joel was being right now and B) how weird Joel was being right now.
Joel. Being pleasant. To Etho. Voluntarily. Etho liked it. Etho liked it a little too much, actually.
Joel returns a minute later. "Okay, here you are," Joel says, dropping all this stuff on the table. Etho already feels better. He's not sure why.
"Thank you," he says, for, like, the fifth time that day as Joel's about to sit back down at the far end of the couch. "You can sit closer than that, you know," he says without thinking.
Joel doesn't respond right away. For a second, Etho wonders whether he heard him or not. Then he talks. "Okay."
He sits closer this time, close enough that when he settles back in, Etho can practically feel his heart beating.
...Was it just period brain getting to him or did Joel look really good right now?
"So," Joel starts, breaking the silence. "How do you feel?"
"Better," he says, clearing his throat. "Thanks."
"You don't have to keep thanking me, you know," he says quietly. "It's what friends do."
Oh . "Okay."
The silence returns.
Joel coughs. "Wanna watch something?"
"Yes," Etho says, probably a little too quickly. "Put on a movie."
"Which?"
Etho shrugs. "Whatever's on. I heard La La Land is pretty good," he offers.
Joel makes a face. "Too sad. I'll cry."
"I'll cry with you."
He snorts. "You, cry? Please."
Etho frowns. "Fine. Whatever. Put on the movie already."
Etho's falling asleep. Etho's falling asleep with his head in Joel's lap.
This is a problem.
Joel's not quite sure how he ended up in this position. He had just gone to Etho's base to ask him whether he could use one of his farms when all this had started.
See, Etho was sick. Extremely sick, by the looks of it. As far as Joel could tell, he had a pretty high fever.
And he was very nearly asleep. On Joel. Which was a far bigger problem.
Joel's heart is pounding so hard he can barely hear Ryan Gosling on the screen, which is annoying because he loves Ryan Gosling very much.
How did this even happen?
Well, he knew how it happened. Etho had started shifting and turned to lean on Joel's shoulder. Then he started getting drowsy, his head getting all droopy. And thus, they ended up here.
What was he even supposed to do now?
Etho had definitely looked like he could use some sleep. The dark circles under his eyes were worrying, and that was coming from Joel, who, like, basically never sleeps.
He nudges Etho's arm, just slightly. "Etho," he whispers, probably a little louder than necessary. "Etho, wake up."
Etho groans in response, only curling up closer.
Joel wants to scream. Or die. Or both.
He clears his throat. "Etho, this can't be comfortable."
"Bed," he murmurs, voice so scratchy that Joel winces just hearing it.
Joel hesitates. "Do you... want me to carry you?"
Etho doesn't respond with anything other than another half-asleep yawn and a tip of the chin that, if you squint, seems like a nod. Joel sighs, wondering for about the hundredth time how he ended up here.
He stands up, very slowly sliding away from Etho (which is much to Etho's dismay).
Am I really going to do this?
Carefully, he slips his arms underneath Etho, lifting him up easily and placing him down on the bed.
He stands up straight, about to walk away, when Etho's hand darts out, catching Joel's wrist so quickly that it almost makes him suspect that Etho hadn't been as sleepy as he had seemed.
"Stay," Etho murmurs, eyes still half shut, his palm red-hot against Joel's skin.
"Etho..."
"Please, Joel," he says, tugging him closer.
Joel hesitates. But he can't deny Etho, especially not when he's like this. "Okay," he says. "Okay."
He lets Etho pull him into the bed and wrap his arm around him. Joel can feel Etho burning up against him as he presses closer.
I'm going to be so sick in the morning, he thinks.
And yet he can't bring himself to regret it.